


Eros

by archeolatry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), M/M, Newly Human Castiel (Supernatural), Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 15:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17490773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeolatry/pseuds/archeolatry
Summary: Cas is still adjusting to the realities of having a human body. Dean is quite willing to help him with that.------“How about I show you,” Dean asked, his voice low and husky, “just how much I approve of this body?”Cas swallowed thickly. “I think I would like that.”





	Eros

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is a timestamp —does it count as a timestamp if it takes place three hours later?— for "Hope", which is from my increasingly inaccurately named "[Three Things Remain](https://archiveofourown.org/series/773331)" series. You can read it alone for porn's sake, but if you're like "Why is Cas human? Which apocalypse are you referring to?" then feel free to take a look at the rest of the series if you haven't already. (It's got angst and porn. You _do_ like angst and porn, right?)
> 
> Thanks to [nickelkeep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelkeep) for crossing some Ts and dotting some Is for me.
> 
> And, as ever, you can hover over the Enochian for a translation. Enjoy!

The shopping trip happened. The thigh nibbling did not.

Cas got new underwear at Target, as promised. The kind of boxer briefs that were short and snug and didn’t bunch up over his thighs. He also got much of the human ephemera he hadn’t needed for some six years: toothbrushes, razors, deodorant, undershirts and socks. Sam went off to get twice the usual supplies—toilet paper, shaving cream, soap, detergent—while Cas and Dean lingered too long at the back of the ‘Personal Care’ section.

In true Castiel fashion, he spent twice as long choosing between jam and jelly and preserves (“This one says _‘America’s Favorite’_ , Dean.”) as he did on clothing. Once it was established he was a firm size Medium, in went pajama pants and flannel shirts and at least one pair of jeans that Dean was determined to take off with his teeth. The one thing Castiel chose for himself without prompt was a t-shirt with a fat, gray cartoon cat eating a donut. (“Cats don’t eat donuts, Dean- it’s an anthropomorphization of the Id. It’s hilarious.”)

Afterwards, they went to a chain restaurant in the same shopping plaza. Not that the minimum-five-pieces-of-flair type joint was their first choice by any means. Cas (apparently) grew fussy as a toddler when he was hungry, and five dollars for ‘bottomless’ fries seemed an irresistible bargain. The brothers learned that Cas could eat at least four baskets of fries by himself- seemingly without stopping for breath. Moreover, they learned that there were still some questions about humanity that they could never fully explain. (“Why are there license plates on the walls?”)

 

Once they returned to the bunker, Castiel took his newly-acquired wardrobe into their room and excused himself for a nap. Sam’s phone began to vibrate, and he made himself scarce, leaving Dean to restock the kitchen and supply closet alone.

Dean’s mental list from that morning grew:

3\. Show grumpy former angel where the soap and toilet paper go.  
4\. Make room for said angel’s clothing in closet and dresser.  
5\. Introduce Cas to the concept of chores (which he already knew would not be a popular one).  


 

It would have grown further, had Sam not emerged from the Library, his face sheet-white and frozen in shock, like he’d seen a clown or something.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?”

His mouth gaped open at first, as if he were trying to force breath into words. “I just got a call from Jody. She said they found a woman half-frozen in the woods near Sioux Falls. Took her to the hospital for rest and fluids _._ She’s stabilized…” He let go a heavy breath. “She had about a dozen forms of ID… but one of them said _Eileen Leahy_.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot skyward. “What?”

“Yeah.”

Sam trembled even saying the word; Dean knew all of Sam’s pain in an instant. When he heard Cas’ voice again after North Cove…

“Do you think it’s her? Like the _real_ her, or…?”

“I don’t know.”

Dean nodded. “You want us to come along?”

“No.” Sam shook his head before meeting Dean’s gaze; his eyes were red and wet, and his voice was brittle. “No, you should stay here with Cas. He’s still…” He raised his arms in a futile gesture, only to have them fall at his sides. “You know…”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

A long moment passed between them, neither brother daring to hope.

“Dean, if it _is_ her… _any_ version of her…”

“I understand.” He swallowed hard. “Believe me, I understand.” He patted his pockets. “Keys…keys…I must have left them in the kitchen…”

“Dean?”

“Take my Baby. If it’s some kinda trap, you’ll need the whole arsenal.” He put on a smile. “And if it _is_ Eileen— ” he wiggled an eyebrow.

Sam rolled his eyes but managed a lip twitch at the innuendo. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” He pulled Sam in close for a hug—one that Sam returned with leaden limbs.

Dean squeezed him hard before letting go. “You call me if something happens, okay? We’ll drop what we’re doin’ and come help.”

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam half-trudged toward the kitchen like a beaten dog. The wound was open and bleeding afresh again, Dean knew. He’d walked that walk before. Where your heart wants to run but your head fears the path’s end.

“Sammy?”

He cast Dean a look over his shoulder, from behind his hair.

“I love you. Be safe.”

“You too, Dean.” He smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

 

 

Eileen. _Eileen._ But how?

Dean shook his head. He wouldn’t think about the how _or_ the why, and he’d seen too much shit to deny the possibility. He couldn’t deny _Sam_ the possibility. Not after this morning. Not after the ‘based-on-the-novel-by-Nicholas-Sparks’ scene that played out in the kitchen.

He did feel a little guilty after- being so happy when Sam wasn’t. He sighed. Did either of them know how to be happy at the same time? It seemed they’d always traded off—Sam in Flagstaff while Dean suffered John, Dean living his Apple Pie Life with Lisa while Sam was soulless. And did it hurt Sam to see him kissing and touching and gazing at Cas, knowing they had the kind of thing he wanted? (…with‘someone who understands The Life?’)

In the haze of his thoughts, Dean found himself at his bedroom door. _Their_ bedroom door. He opened it a tiny crack, just enough to see Cas wrapped up in their blankets, the long line of him an assuring presence in their bed. 

_‘Cas isn’t going anywhere,’_ he assured himself. _‘He chose you.’_

He fought the urge to crawl into bed with Cas; to spoon him against his chest and hold him tight.

Dean rested his head on the doorframe and let his eyes slip closed. _‘Chuck? You out there?’_

No sign. But Chuck wasn’t quite as big on the capital-s Signsas he used to be. Not after the whole ‘Make Biblical Floods Real Again’ thing he just tried to pull.

 _‘I know it takes some cojones to ask for anything after that whole shit-show yesterday, but… it’s Eileen, right? From a parallel dimension or a— a time warp or something? You’re making it up to Sam too, right?’_ No lightning struck, no thunder crashed. _‘And she’s happy to be back? Or to never have left? You wouldn’t just dangle this in front of my baby brother for some old-fashioned ‘jealous God’ laughs, right?’_

No response. Not even a book falling or a glass breaking or anything.

Dean sighed again and decided the best course of action was beer.

 

 

Fighting their fourth apocalypse (fifth? He’d lost count.) meant that the bunker’s DVR was stuffed with half a season’s worth of unwatched _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ episodes. And with the Deancave’s kegerator still untapped, well, his evening was all but settled.

Dean threw the occasional longing glance at the empty lounger beside him. Cas would indulge him for an episode or two, before his pointing out the medical inaccuracies and Dean’s explaining the show’s complicated web of relationships became too much. Then they’d switch to—quite frankly—a better quality show or film, with Dean paying more attention to Cas’ reactions than the scene before him. 

How hard would it be to get a couch down here, now that it couldn’t be simply mojo’d in? It’d be worth it for some quality snuggle time with Cas.

 _‘Quality snuggle time? You old sap.’_ But the thought of a good flick, a bowl of buttery popcorn and a comfy Cas by his side? Not a bit of shame in that. 

As if on cue, Cas padded quietly into the room wearing his pajama pants and one of Dean’s old t-shirts— a grey AC/DC shirt coming apart at the collar but buttery-soft from use. Dean bit at his lip. Cas was now officially welcome to _all_ of Dean’s t-shirts- especially if they were all going to accentuate his neck like that. 

A hum came from Cas as he ran his hand over the spiky fluff of Dean’s hair. Dean leaned into the touch, a pleased sound like a purr vibrating in his throat.

Despite its generous width, Dean doubted the good people at La-Z-Boy had intended this to be a loveseat—he wasn’t sure these old springs could hold the weight of two grown men. He pulled Cas down into it anyway, pressing their limbs together much as they had last night. (Had it really only been that long?) They fit like pieces of a puzzle- their planes and grooves interlocking.

They bumped knees as Cas curled against him, settling his sleep-warm body under Dean’s arm and laying his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“You have a nice nap?” Cas nodded. Dean carded his fingers into Cas’ hair, bringing their foreheads together. “Good. You had a busy day.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I’m not a toddler, Dean. I did not have a ‘busy day’.” Dean could practically see the air quotes.

“For a former angel who’s never had to pick out his own shirts before, I’d say it was pretty damn busy. Plus you just slept for about an hour and a half.”

“I’m finding a circadian rhythm,” Cas grumped. “Having a human body is trickier than I remember.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“I also don’t think I care for these,” he tugged at his pajama pants. “If it’s just going to be the two of us, I’d rather sleep nude.” He then added “I’ll put them on once I leave the bedroom, of course.”

“No objections here,” Dean grinned. A warm bed full of naked former angel? No complaints whatsoever. In fact, he would have showed him just how few objections he had about it this morning—that is, if Sam hadn’t thrown everything into existential paroxysms over French toast. 

Though now that Dean thought about it, what did he mean by—

“Hey Cas, I was thinkin’…” Castiel hummed against his neck by way of response. “About what you said earlier. About ‘this body not being ideal’. What’d you mean by that?”

Dean felt Cas go tense underneath him. Dean mentally kicked himself for ruining a perfectly good moment. Hell, for even bringing it up. Cas rose to a sit an elbow’s length away. He didn’t even meet Dean’s eyes.

“It…it’s nothing.”

“Cas, you’re a good liar but you can’t fib worth a damn.”

“I…” Cas wrung his hands. “I know you’ve had some... _unpleasant_ experiences with men,” he struggled out. “In life. In Hell. They might even be called traumatizing—”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had some pretty traumatizing experiences with angels too,” he snapped. “But you’re not them. You’re not _any_ of them. You’re **you**.” He caught himself then and softened his tone. “And bein'... _hung up_ for so long- that was on me. It had nothin’ to do with you _or_ your body.”

“As true as that may be, your long-term relationships were all with women.” He met Dean’s eyes again; the doubt in those stormy blues got him right behind the ribs. “I know you’d had relations with men, but you’d never _loved_ men. And I worried—”

He leaned forward and brushed Cas’ lips with his, stopping his mouth. Castiel kissed back, gentle and apprehensive- like a nervous prom date, or a virgin on his wedding day.

Dean pulled a hair’s breadth away- enough to lock eyes with his angel. “Dammit, Cas…” He sighed faintly - only one damn day and he really _was_ becoming an old sap. “I’ve never loved _anyone_ like I love you, okay? Not Cassie, not Lisa, not anyone else on the whole damn planet. I’d choose you if you came wrapped up in a 70-year-old Russian grandfather.”

Cas nodded in his hold, and Dean exhaled. “You just happened to choose a really, _really_ hot vessel.”

Cas blinked demurely. “You wouldn’t have preferred a Busty Asian Beauty?”

He ran his thumb along Cas’ stubbled jawline, the shallow cleft of his chin. “Nah,” he grinned. “Wouldn’t be the same.”

“So, you approve of this body?”

“I think I made that pretty damn clear last night.”

“I mean…for life.” Cas then quickly tacked on “Or as long as you’ll have me. I shouldn’t—”

Dean stopped his mouth again, and Cas’ lips quirked in the beginning of a smile. “I told you- you’re **it** for me. That means _all_ of you. For life.” He leaned into another kiss, easing the next query before it reared. This one Castiel melted into, took his part in. And so the next, and so the next, and on until Cas was practically in his lap. 

His hands ducked under Cas’ t-shirt, tracing the low relief of the tattoo on Cas’ hip. Some of the same possessive fire that found him last night ignited now, and he sucked Castiel’s bottom lip into his mouth, nipping it gently before releasing it.

The look of pure wonder he got in return made him stiff- made him bold. He looked at Cas from under his lashes as he slipped a thumb and forefinger up to roll one of his nipples between them. Cas, in his turn, arched his back into Dean’s hand. It was in that shift that Dean saw the drape of the thin fabric between Cas’ legs, half an erection already tenting his pajama pants. 

“How about I show you,” he asked, his voice low and husky, “just how much I approve?”

Cas swallowed thickly. “I think I would like that.”

Cas was no angel, no virgin. He was a man now, in full, and Dean could allow himself to want. And oh, did he _want_. He rucked Cas’ t-shirt up, baring the tanned skin underneath: the dark paps on his chest, no bigger than a nickel and extraordinarily sensitive; the taut, muscled stomach; those fucking _hipbones._

Dean’s mental list grew: Tomorrow, spend at least one hour in bed kissing Cas all over. _All_ over.

He fisted his hand in the fabric of Cas’ shirt and brought him closer, his tongue laving over Cas’ nipple before wafting a hot breath over it. A warm sound came from the depths of Castiel’s throat, and Dean smiled. He licked at the other, blowing a little gust of cold air instead, making his beloved shiver. Dean then sucked at it—hard—making him cry out.

Yes, tomorrow, he was going to make his angel come undone. But for now…

“Stand up a sec.”

Castiel’s lust-hazy eyes blinked once, twice before getting to his feet. Dean followed, adjusting himself in his jeans before pulling at the hem of Cas’ shirt once more. He pulled it over Cas’ head and off, letting it puddle on the floor. He then pulled Cas close for one more heated kiss before nodding towards the chair.

Castiel sat, his gaze never leaving Dean’s. Not as Dean slowly sank to one knee, then both. Not as Dean pulled at the drawstring of Cas’ pajama pants, untying the bow at the front and guiding them over Castiel’s hips. Not until Dean scooted closer, once they were removed, and started placing heated kisses over his stomach. 

Cas’ cock was filling under his attention, a warm and insistent presence against his collarbone, the velvety skin of it gliding across Dean’s chest aided by beads of moisture. Dean craned his neck to the left, purposely veering away. As much as he would have liked to get lost in the sounds of his angel’s pleasure, his knees weren’t what they used to be. 

He was at once tender and quick, reverent and sly.

Scent was beginning to gather at the crease of Castiel’s thighs. Something human and masculine- clean sweat with the promise of a deeper musk. Dean mouthed the skin there, letting the baby-fine hairs catch against his stubble. He would have bitten if there had been enough to get between his teeth, but the trim body beneath him had little extra. The low, needy breaths coming from Castiel said that he would never know the difference.

A little shiver ran through Dean as he planted wet kisses across one rock-solid thigh, then on the other. How good would _these_ feel clamped around him? (And, despite himself, Dean spared a thought for Jimmy Novak, and wondered again how a too-large discount suit ended up hiding all this treasure. Perhaps someday he’d have the nerve to ask.)

He used both hands to spread Castiel’s legs wider, into a sprawl that put the whole of him on display. Dean marveled at the sight of that thick cock, already trickling precome; at the unexpected smoothness of his skin. At the dark-blush-pink pucker now bared to him. 

How could Cas ever think that he didn’t approve of this body?

Dean smiled to himself, leaning in to sweep a soft tongue over Cas’ balls. The resulting gasp was downright pornographic, echoing straight to his own dick. He lapped at the pebbled skin, rolled one in his mouth before they drew in tight. 

Castiel moaned with his whole body, hips writhing and bucking shallowly, sliding him further down the upholstery. So _exquisitely_ sensitive. 

Now, at eye level, and with Castiel quivering at every movement, he was possessed with the sudden (and somewhat inexplicable) urge to bury his tongue _directly_ into Castiel’s ass— an urge he hadn’t even _entertained_ since his demon days. Too…dirty.

 _“He hasn’t used it for its intended purpose in six years.”_ Dean nearly laughed. _“It’s probably the cleanest butthole on the entire planet.”_ He found himself edging toward it before he could think any further, his tongue following the line of Cas’ perineum down and down and down.

A sharp bark of a grunt-groan sounded from Cas, like his body couldn’t decide what sound to make so it made all of them. Dean tested the waters again with a long sweep of his pointed tongue, which made Cas squirm.

He hoisted one leg over the arm of the chair, bracing himself against Cas’ thigh, and held the other underneath the back of his knee. This gave him access to all of Cas’ most lickable parts, and he grinned.

He spread Cas’ cheeks a bit wider, teasing his rim in a wide swirl. His angel seemed to melt like butter against the warm heat of his mouth. 

It wasn’t unlike going down on a girl, really; he could trace the same repertoire of invisible patterns that made barmaids from Duluth to Dallas scream his name. But they didn’t _whine_ his name the way that Cas did, half sob and half prayer.

Dean widened his stance to accommodate the rock-hardness pressing uncomfortably against his zipper, and his knees protested. He eased backward, resting on his heels. A dulcet, needy plaint came from Cas, his body chasing after Dean’s tongue.

He was nearly falling off the chair when Dean got a good look at him. He was flushed all over, his muscles strung tight, his eyes glassy with a need that bordered on pain.

Dean’s hands found his fly, letting himself free. His dick bobbed straight out into the air in front of him, practically begging to be touched. But his wasn’t about him.

“Sit back, sweetheart,” Dean rumbled, “and let me take care of you.”

Castiel edged back into the embrace of the chair, his spine settling against the tufted seatback. Dean muffled a groan as he took to his knees again. Seeing the need in Cas’ eyes, however, did plenty to ease the ache.

Dean noticed his mouth was watering. How long had he wanted this? 

He placed a light kiss at the tip of Cas’ cock; the length of it juddered, seemingly straining to meet Dean’s mouth. Dean lapped at the head with a broad, flat tongue, and got a taste of salty pre-come for the effort.

Castiel whimpered. Castiel—former Angel of the Lord—whimpered like a lost puppy at a mere swipe of his tongue. He would allow himself to be proud of that very soon. Now, he’d please the man before him. Dean licked his lips and slid the head into his warm, waiting mouth.

“Oohhh!” It was a long, throaty moan from deep in Cas’ chest. His hands twitched, looking for any point of contact. They made for Dean’s neck and then his shoulders before finally settling, white-knuckled, on the armrests.

Without looking up, Dean plucked one hand away and brought it onto the top of his head. Cas’ fingers clawed in his hair, tugging at his scalp in a way that made Dean groan around his mouthful. He trusted Cas not to pull too tightly. At least, not _yet_. 

He gave it a proper salute, gliding it in and out of his mouth, drawing on the crown, showing it the right amount of worship. He licked a long stripe from one end to the other, flicking at the little nodule of nerves on the underside before running his tongue down the vein. Castiel’s legs wobbled and Dean knew he had teased him long enough. Holding the root in a loose fist, he slipped the first few inches into his mouth. 

Cas was so thick. So gorgeously, satisfyingly thick. “ _And he’s all_ _**mine**_ ,” Dean thought greedily, as his lips stretched around that girth. One day he might not feel so smug for thoroughly debauching one man— but it had been seven years, three months, and twenty-eight days after all.

Dean bobbed up and down, making the flesh spit-slick until it trickled over his knuckles. Then, starting with his little finger, he loosened his grip, relying on his mouth to accept more and more, until he could feel the blunt head of it press at the back of his throat. He slowed, testing the weight of it against his soft palate, swallowing around the head (and making Cas jolt in a rather unhelpful way). 

He opened still wider, and (ever-so-slowly) took him all the way down.

Castiel mumbled something indistinct under his breath. A quick glance up saw Cas’ head lolling onto his shoulder, his entire body humming like a live wire.

Dean swallowed, and Cas’ eyes shot open. Dean’s eyes narrowed into a wolfish leer; if he looked half as impudent as he felt, he was quite the sight indeed. He locked eyes with Cas as he took another long draw, from root to head and back again. And again. And again.

(And yeah, maybe he had learned to do this the Bad Way, but no desperate trucker or Midwestern closet case had so reverently stroked the obtuse angle of Dean’s jaw or threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair like he was something precious- something permanent. And nine times out of ten, if-slash-when he chanced a look at them, they averted their eyes. They didn’t gaze at him with such unabashed adoration, as if he were performing some holy service down there on his knees.) 

Cas pulled tight, tight, tighter on his little handful of hair, and Dean felt it all the way down his spine. It was more than he could take.

He reached for his own hard dick, shivering as he ran a thumb over the head. There was a long dribble of pre-cum trailing down his shaft- just enough to make a slick ‘O’ with his thumb and forefingers and squeeze it up and down his length.

He groaned loudly around Cas’s cock, which made it twitch in Dean’s mouth. He could feel Cas’ balls drawing tight to his body as he rolled them in his other hand, the little ripples of muscle rolling across Cas’ belly as his orgasm coiled in his core.

And the _noises_. The vulgar grunt when Dean squeezed his sack with gentle pressure; the sound of Cas’ already gruff voice dropping an octave as Dean lapped at the head with every pass, until his name vibrated through Castiel’s chest.

“Dean,” he breathed, short and shallow. “Dean…please Dean, don’t stop… _please_ Dean… _yes…_ ” Castiel’s whole body went rigid save for his lips, which were busy shaping Dean’s name over a dozen whispers. “ _Dean_ … _ **Dean**_ …” The penultimate name escaped as a high-pitched whimper- the final was punched-out and throaty. “DEAN!” 

Dean felt the hot flood in his throat, the sharp yank at the back of his head, the drawn-out groan as Cas’ joints turned to water—and was gone seconds later.

He had the presence of mild to relax his muscles, keeping his jaw loose and letting Castiel slide easily out of his mouth. Dean tugged gently on the half-slack flesh, dribbling what little was left onto his tongue. He made sure Castiel was watching as it disappeared back into his mouth, letting Cas know beyond a doubt that he was tasting him. (Not that he cared for it, but he would never let it stand in the way of such a visual.) He lapped at the head until he was shoved away; he then rested his head on Cas’ thigh as Castiel idly petted his hair. 

_“Limlal ol..._ ” he muttered, his voice rough, his lids heavy. _“Olani oai ipamis grosb ol…”_

Dean smiled against Cas’ skin. “I love doing that.”

Cas grunted a questioning sound.

“Making you so blissed out that you revert to Enochian.”

Castiel yawned wide, unfurling his limbs in a catlike motion. “I’ve just woken up, and now I want to go right back to sleep.”

“Welcome to being a human male again, Cas,” he grinned, placing one more light kiss on that muscular thigh.

A petulant little ‘ _hmph’_ sounded from Cas. The fatigue was undesirable. The reason for it, however, was quite desirable indeed. He ran a hand over Dean’s hair again.

“I suppose we should clean up,” Castiel said sleepily. “We wouldn’t want Sam to walk in and find us like this.”

Dean’s half-lidded eyes shot open. He sat up, putting his weight on one arm. And, as an afterthought, tucked himself back into his pants; news like this should be delivered with some measure of dignity.

“Yeeaaahhh,” Dean began, “so, about that…”


End file.
